


Sorry, Sir

by filesunderwater



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26459596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filesunderwater/pseuds/filesunderwater
Summary: Monroe was ill, and Jefferson took care of him.Well, Jefferson was apparently very "good" at attending to patients; and Monroe really "enjoyed" the experience.By the way, is it just me or "something" truly happened when Monroe was staying at Monticello in the summer of 1783? You know what I mean.
Relationships: Thomas Jefferson/James Monroe
Kudos: 1





	Sorry, Sir

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not good at English. So apology in advance if some inappropriate use of words or sentences(and I'm sure there are many) disturbs you while reading.

The room was cold. Freezingly cold—or so did Monroe feel. He indulged himself with a cup of thick, dark tea made of freshly boiled water before going to bed, which might nevertheless not be strong enough, since his tongue did not sense the slightest taste. Putting the cup down, he noticed his fingers were trembling.  
This was not right. He thought to himself as he gazed through the bedroom window: Was it just the moisture, or had his vision begun to blur?  
Maybe both. The rain was still pouring down, even heavier than half an hour ago, when Mr. Jefferson and he were off in the field observing those newly planted experimental beans. It was clearly unwise then to wait in the field where there was no shelter at all, so they grabbed the only umbrella a servant happened to have and hurried toward the house. Jefferson quivered as a drop of rain slipped off the edge of the umbrella and touched his skin. He pouted. Without hesitation, Monroe took off his own coat and wrapped it around his mentor's shoulders.

Every muscle on him had begun to ache now, from neck to toe. The chill, the dizziness, the buzzing in his ears......He was, apparently, running a high fever.  
For a moment, Monroe panicked from that fact.  
More than ten long years had he been the only pillar of a huge household, supporting the livelihood of all his siblings together with a dozen slaves whose family had served at Monroe's Creek for more than one generation; then there was his nation desperately calling: the revolution, the war, a fragile newborn Republic. Neither the bleak winter at Forge Valley nor the bullet at Trenton killed him; through them all he stood still—how could he AFFORD to fall? How DARE he be ill for even a single minute?

But, now…… “James, I wonder if you could do me the fav—James, are you alright?!” Someone grabbed his shoulders from behind. Monroe closed his eyes for several seconds to fight back a sudden wave of serious dizziness, before coming back to fully aware that he was now staying at Monticello, the plantation mansion of his mentor, who had been so generous to invite him over during the summer. He had a couple of other fellow protégés studying under Mr. Jefferson currently, but Monroe noticed that he was the only one who received this honor. Was it morally correct to be secretly proud of that? 

“Can...Can you stand on your own......” It was Mr. Jefferson, whose voice indicating an evident relief when Monroe opened his eyes and managed to support his own weight again. “We need to send for the doctor… Where did you leave the bell? James—James can you hear me?”   
Monroe tried to put together a sentence, but only managed to make a faint groan out of his throat. Fortunately, it was nevertheless quite helpful, since Jefferson finally realized that it might be more urgent to let the patient lie down than to find the bell to summon a servant.

The bed was feeling softer than ever, as if absorbing his entire consciousness. The whole world whirled before his eyes, and there were sounds humming from far, far away.   
A bell rang, followed by a series of footsteps, then a piece of porcelain broke, the water inside spilled onto the floor. Was it a careless servant or his younger brothers being wicked again? Someone needed to attend to it, Monroe thought while trying to force his eyes open. A person calmed him down by gently touching his forehead, brushing the messy curls off his face. Could it be his mother coming back? But why didn't Mama tuck his quilt or kiss him goodnight? A male's voice was talking, very near to his bed...... Surely Mama would convince Uncle Joseph that he was ill now, he deserved to take a day off from school and all those readings......speaking of which, had Mr. Jefferson assigned him any readings today?  
A chilling wave of anxiety suddely dragged him out of the sweet sense of secure in bed: He must explain himself to Mr. Jefferson. He would collapse if his mentor thought he was lazy, ungrateful and not worth trusting. "Sir......" It took too much energy to speak, but he had to save the impression Mr. Jefferson had about him, which, he suddenly felt without any reason, mattered more than anything else in this world. "Sir, I…I…"

Jefferson would never admit that it was a slight sense of guilty that prevented him from leaving the patient there and going to sleep in his own bedroom. Sitting down beside the bed again, he bewilderedly reflected into what he should do--as a mentor, a host, a friend, or……whatever--what he COULD do about the weak, pale young man lying helplessly in his guest room?  
Maybe a cup of tea would be good, Jefferson searched through his memories of medical knowledge; but unfortunately, Monroe could not have that for now……well, he believed such an understanding young gentleman like Mr. James Monroe would absolutely see that holding a cup of hot tea while attending to a patient was not an easy job, and that it was a pure accident he broke the cup just now.  
Or perhaps letting the professional handle this would be the most reasonable choice. But with all the rain, thunder and lightening outside, compelling anybody to go out of their house tonight should definitely be charged murdering.  
Hence, there was only one solution left, Jefferson finally reached a conclusion: go get an experienced, trust-worthy, middle-aged female servant, and she must know what to do. After all, taking care of people was naturally women's job, wasn't it? Nobody should blame a well-educated gentleman for not being good at it.

Thousands of thoughts were swimming, bouncing and buzzing in his brain, forming a terrible headache. But no, there was a voice whispering in his mind, I did not have time to care for them......Mr. Jefferson was here, he was probably listening...... Oh sir, PLEASE listen to me, please believe me, I beg you sir...... I am so sorry to disappoint you, I shouldn't have...... have caused you trouble?...... I shouldn't have become ill in the first place...... I swear I didn't mean to...... if only you could give me another chance, sir! I don't want to be thrown back into that grey, misty life before I met you......Please...... how can I survive if you were not with me anymore?  
He got too tired even to cry at last. Images of his mother and uncle faded away, give way to a world of silent, blank darkness. Then suddenly, the tranquility was disturbed by somebody's rubbing his hair, which was certainly not very comfortable. Monroe groaned to complain.   
"Hmm... not as soft as I thought... WHAT?! James you are still awake??" Jefferson almost jumped when Monroe unexpectedly made a sound. Now he was caught right on the spot, studying——out of pure academic curiosity, and also in the most simple and scientific means he could apply at present——how those cute, black curls would feel to rub. But it was probably not appropriate to design and conduct this experiment anyway.

God DOES exist. He had made all my prayers come true.   
Monroe opened his eyes. Jefferson was right there, being with him at his side, looking at him with concern clearly written on face——so... Mr. Jefferson was worrying about my health? Was he... was he here taking care of me all this time?

The fact is, it was IMPOSSIBLE for either of them to follow the other man's train of thought. Jefferson was trying so hard to conceal his embarrassment and make up an excuse to explain the situation, when Monroe suddenly grabbed hold of his hand and burst into tears.  
Jefferson literally jumped this time.  
"Wh- are you leaving me? sir..." Those pair of watery blue eyes was clearly suppressing as well as pleading for something, "Sir... I...I'm sorry for everything I might have done wrong...... Please forgive me, sir......"  
"That was just a... just nothing. Nothing, I assure you, dear sir. Make yourself at home. Have a good rest. Good night." Jefferson quickly responded and set off to escape the room. Continuing this conversation any longer might embarrass him to death.   
The words, however, were said in so low a tone that Monroe hardly heard them. All he saw was that Mr. Jefferson was going to leave him alone but stopped, turned around to talk to him again, in so gentle, soft and patient a voice.  
It was hard to hold back tears when suffering from a bad cold.  
"Sir, I... I am so grateful for everything you've done for me..."  
"For...what?! You like me to...?"  
"Why would you question that, sir?!" 

It turned out that the communication was somehow STRANGELY efficient and effective, in its own way.   
Jefferson attempted to reach out his hand again, cautiously and incredulously, to stroke Monroe's hair, and was amazed when he induced a series of purr from the younger man.   
Taking the gesture as a sign of care and trust, Monroe finally got to disperse the anxiety occupying his mind and relaxed into the sweetness of being accompanied by his beloved mentor. 

Everything was perfect. Everyone was satisfied. So what were they apologizing for just now?


End file.
